Leaves
by windtear
Summary: AU. Lacus Clyne, a famous musician and composer, arrives at Freedom, an isolated house in the country, for a break from everything... only to find she is not quite as alone as she thought she'd be....


**Leaves**

By Raye Johnsen

_'Mobile Suit Gundam Seed' is copyright Bandai, Sunrise, Sony and other interested parties. All rights remain theirs.  
This is an alternate universe fanfic. Please keep that in mind as you read._

_ This fic was originally posted on the lj community 'KiraRaku' as part of the group's Valentine Day celebration and was dedicated to Ryuuen.  
_

* * *

_From the pages of 'Tokyo Daily', June 10th_

... And in music news, the dance sensation Lacus Clyne released her latest CD last night.

Ever since her debut in the underground nightclubs of New York five years ago at the age of thirteen, Clyne has been a figure of debate. Did Sony sponsor her first mainstream performance simply to garner publicity, to attract the teenage market, or because (as they claim) they were the first to recognize Clyne's undeniable talent?

The matter is now, of course, moot. Clyne's compositions veer from the uplifting to the heartbreaking, without ever once being anything but infectious, and the performance last night – as Clyne gave an impromptu performance of some of her songs at the launch - was no exception.

The intensely private composer and performer has excelled herself once more, and one can hear the desperate scrabble of other artists on both sides of the Pacific as they seek to catch up to Clyne's vision...

* * *

_From the diary of Lacus Clyne_

June 11th

Dear Diary,

I've _got_ to get out of here.

* * *

_From Lacus Clyne's personal correspondence_

June 20th

Dear Athrun, Mia, Yzak, Dearka and Shiho (I'm addressing this to all of you because I know very well that you're all reading this),

Well! Here I am, at a house called Freedom. I'm leasing it through the owner's personal assistant and he seems very nice, but I still haven't heard a word from the owner.

I've no idea _why _it's called Freedom. Not Freedom Manor, or Castle, or House, just Freedom. Odd. It's a rather large house. It's been refurbished with electricity and modern conveniences and has fifteen rooms, including a kitchen, two bathrooms and a library, all at least twelve to sixteen mats - I'm rattling around here like an oddly-coloured pea! You will have to come visit me!

As for why I'm out here - I know I promised that we'd go on a holiday after the success of that last show. I will keep that promise! But I need to get away from the press for a while. As long as I'm in reach of civilization, I'm going to be followed by paparazzi, determined to smoke out the 'secrets' of Lacus Clyne, musical prodigy, and I'm determined that it won't happen to you.

Amazingly enough, it turns out that Freedom is owned by another 'prodigy' - you know that computer designer, Kira Yamato? (Yes, Athrun, the one I fangirled about a couple of years ago when he put out the MixStation Mark II.) It turns out that _he _owns this house, and he bought it apparently for the same reasons that I'm renting it.

As Freedom is a lovely house, and his company's still putting out some of the best computers and equipment in the world, I was a little surprised that it was up for rent. Still, ours is not to reason why; ours is to try to find an isolated place where we can get a decent night's sleep and go for a nice walk of an evening without getting a camera lens shoved in our face. And if another is prepared to share such a retreat, I'm sure I'm not stupid enough to refuse it out-of-hand.

I'll write more later. Remember, that's a raincheck, not a rejection, on our holiday!

Yours,  
Lacus

* * *

_From Lacus Clyne's personal correspondence_

June 21st

Dear Mr. Argyle,

Thank you for your prompt reply to my earlier letter. I have received the receipt for the bond and first month's rent.

However, no response has been made to my request for an appointment to speak to your employer, Mr. Yamato. Certain matters have come up that I would like to speak about to him.

I will be in town next Wednesday. I should appreciate it if you would reply to this letter as soon as possible, telling me at what hour on Wednesday my appointment has been scheduled for.

Yours sincerely,  
Lacus Clyne

* * *

_From the diary of Lacus Clyne_

June 22nd

Dear Diary,

I'm wondering now if this was such a good idea.

Freedom is a beautiful house, and the gardens are fantastic - the chrysanthemums are beautiful, and there are so many flowers here. I think I could probably make up 'message bouquets', the way people did a hundred years ago, just out of the garden. Kira Yamato is obviously an excellent gardener.

I rented this house unfurnished, and I didn't bring in very much - just a bed, my linen, my clothing, a set of drawers, a table, chairs and some kitchenware (including my coffeemaker, I think I'd die without it), my keyboard and my laptop (because, of course, inspiration _always _strikes me when I'm on holiday).

I'm absolutely certain I didn't have any composition paper in there.

I haven't touched the half-ream I've found in the room that I've turned into my studio. I'll write and ask Shiho if I mentioned anything about any paper to her. Things have been so hectic since the leadup to the launch, I could've bought it and forgotten. I guess.

This is when I regret that I don't have a phone here. Peace and quiet, I thought, when the agency told me it wasn't connected and that I'd have to make arrangements for myself if I wanted it. No phone, with calls from cousins volunteering themselves to be my appearance organisers. No fax, with bullying demands from the record company. No internet, with all its distractions.

No way out if there's a ghost here.

I swear that that idea had never crossed my mind before I wrote it just now. I don't believe in ghosts.

I DON'T.

Another strange thing is the portrait. It hangs, alone, on the wall beside the door of the room I've claimed for my bedroom. It's of a young man, in early Meiji-era court kimono. If it weren't that the painting is obviously old (the oil paints are cracked on the canvas, and the frame is old, too), I'd think Mr. Yamato had had his portrait painted, in period costume. It has an uncanny likeness to him.

But somehow, I don't feel threatened. It's almost as if whatever lives here in Freedom - _if _anything lives here at all - likes me. Which leads me to the third thing.

This morning, there were flowers on my table.

I suppose they could have been blown in by the wind, but then, wouldn't they have been all over the room? Not just lying neatly on the table.

There was a mignonette, a daisy and a branch of flowering almond. All of them are beautiful.

I wish I could remember why this reassures me.

* * *

_From the diary of Lacus Clyne_

June 23rd

Dear Diary,

Shiho knows nothing about any paper. If I had mentioned it to her, she'd remember; unlike me, Shiho has a very organised mind – it must come with being a science major. She always manages to keep track of such things as reams of paper, the amount of food in the refrigerator and exactly whose turn it is to clean the bathroom. Sometimes I wonder how the two of us could be such good friends.

Mia is still bubbling over with excitement over being at the launch. She, Athrun, Shiho, Yzak and Dearka are apparently still riding high on the celebrity. I'm glad she enjoyed it - but Shiho doesn't seem to have enjoyed it as much as Mia. I suppose that's just as well – they're both really too gentle to survive in this business for very long.

I was right when I thought inspiration would strike! I have four compositions in various stages of completion on my hard drive, and I've taken to composing, on the mystery paper, in the garden under the trees. The garden is so full of flowers, it's beautiful. I often fall asleep there - I didn't get much sleep with the show and all - and I'll wake up absolutely covered in flowers. Today I was showered with white hyacinths.

I've been dreaming lately.

In my dreams, I've been meeting a young man - the man in the painting. So far, there hasn't been much to the dreams. For example, this afternoon, when I napped in the garden, I dreamt I was in the garden, and I looked up to see him. He smiled at me, and held out the posy of white hyacinths he held. I smiled myself, and reached up to accept them. Our fingertips touched -

- and I woke to find myself sitting in the garden, paper in my lap, covered in white hyacinths. No slender, violet-eyed youth anywhere, worse luck. But then, I've never had any luck with boys while I've been awake, so why should a tryst with a dream boy be any different?

* * *

_From the diary of Lacus Clyne_

June 24th

Dear Diary,

Last night, the dream boy and I took a great step forward. During our conversation, we shared our names.

On rereading that, I feel so dumb. You'd think, the way I feel about this, I'd have gotten further. Oh well, who'll ever read this anyway? Just me, and I know what I mean.

This particularly gorgeous figment of my imagination calls himself (itself?) 'Kira'. On reflection, I don't think I'm quite as over my teenaged admiration of Kira Yamato as I thought I was.

My inspiration seems to be the garden. I've completed three songs, one instrumental and I'm starting on something that may become a ballad. All the songs have something about the flowers blooming there. Maybe I should ask about extending my lease past the end of August.

* * *

_From Lacus Clyne's personal correspondence_

June 25th

Dear Mr. Argyle,

Thank you for your prompt response.

I appreciate that your employer is a busy man. I am sorry that he is too busy to speak to me. However, I really feel that the matters I wish to discuss with him are important and that I must speak with him about them.

If you would make an appointment for me to speak with Mr. Yamato as soon as possible, I would appreciate it greatly.

Yours sincerely,  
Lacus Clyne

* * *

_From the diary of Lacus Clyne_

June 26th

Dear Diary,

If I keep getting the runaround from that auburn-headed rock of a secretary, and that blond fop of a personal assistant, I'm _not _going to be responsible for the consequences!

Finished a song.

Kira and I walked through the gardens. He gave me a posy of Queen's Rocket, after I flirted with him a little. I wish I had this kind of luck with boys when I'm awake.

* * *

_From the diary of Lacus Clyne_

July 3rd

Dear Diary,

I don't think my dream boy is such a dream anymore.

I was busily laying in the bass line on the new song I'm working on in the studio, when I looked up and I saw him. Kira. The boy I've been dreaming about. The one in the portrait.

And he was transparent. I could see right - through - him.

I think I know why Sai Argyle has been dodging me now.

He was carrying another bouquet. Dianthus and fleur-de-lys.

I can't believe I _noticed _that.

* * *

_From the diary of Lacus Clyne_

July 5th

Dear Diary,

So I'm sharing Freedom with a ghost.

I'm still a little freaked out about it, but I guess I can handle it. I pretty much have to, as I'm stuck here. And this time it's my own fault.

Note for the future: don't go running down the stairs to get away from a ghost. You trip, fall, knock your head and aforesaid ghost has to work out how to open the freezer compartment door, get out the gel icepack and put it on your head for half an hour before you can hobble up to bed.

For the record, it is very very freaky to watch an icepack float slowly in the air towards you.

But not as freaky as watching your covers get pulled back for you by absolutely nothing, and then things like cold towels and bouquets flying around your room while your ghost fusses over you.

But I didn't know brambles had such pretty flowers. They go very well with azalea and yellow acacia.

… I know I'm missing something. But I can't think what.

* * *

_From the diary of Lacus Clyne_

July 6th

Dear Diary,

Kira can cook. Why I am surprised about that I don't know, but, well. I guess I just didn't think of a ghost cooking. He makes a pretty decent scrambled eggs, toast and chicken soup.

Last night, in my dream, we had a long, involved conversation. On guilt, responsibility and how he's not touching my bathroom. Have to love his priorities.

He's a really good kisser, too.

* * *

_  
From Lacus Clyne's personal correspondence_

July 10th

Dear Athrun,

Don't worry, you have absolutely no need to come out here to me, I'm just fine! Really! I'm getting a lot of sleep and the air here around Freedom is so fresh and clean, it feels really good. Honestly, sometimes I feel like dragging my mattress out and making up my bed in the gazebo, I spend so much time in the garden. Which is absolutely beautiful. I'm sending you some pressed flowers with this letter as well as photos.

But enough about me, what's this I hear about _you_, hmm? You sly fox, waiting until your best friend's away to meet and start dating someone! So what's this 'Cagalli' like, anyway? Tell her she better treat you right, or else _I'll_ be coming after her!

So how is everyone in the gang doing? I've barely heard from Shiho or Yzak (how large is the pot on those two, again? You know I bet on August). I didn't expect to hear from Mia after her parents dragged her off on their annual summer journey to the wilds of Hokkaido (how many Ainu swearwords do you think she'll bring back to us this year?) and Dearka appears to be spending the summer conquering wherever-it-is the new Final Fantasy game is set. (Get him to write up the game plot and get screencaps of the characters for me, would you? You know how I love the art those games have now.) I feel totally out of the loop. Hit me with the gossip, please!

Love,  
Your nosy best friend, Lacus

* * *

_From the diary of Lacus Clyne_

July 26th

Dear Diary,

I wonder if Kira Yamato will sell Freedom? My lease expires in just over five weeks, and I don't want to go! I especially don't want to leave Kira. Not after what we've done together.

Is it so crazy to be in love with a ghost? Because I think I am. I think I might always have been, and just waiting to come here. And he says he feels the same for me. I don't want this to end, ever.

God, I sound just like one of my own love songs.

* * *

_From the diary of Lacus Clyne_

August 5th

Dear Diary,

According to Ms. Allster, Sai Argyle is out of the country at the moment, attending to some business for Mr. Yamato. She also said that she would see that Ms. Yamato received my query, but it would be highly unlikely that Mr. Yamato would be willing to sell Freedom. I'm sure I know _exactly _where my query ended up, but at least she was polite enough not to throw it out while I was on the phone to her.

I'm starting to wonder why Kira and I have this connection. I never thought soulmates existed before.

I'm also starting to dream, not just of him now, but of a life where I'm married to this man, where we live in Freedom and are very much in love. How out-of-context this seems for the time – we're living in the Meiji Era and Kira is working with the gaijin engineers to build the first railway in Edo, but we're supposed to call it 'Tokyo' now, and we were married by our parents but fell in love with each other anyway. Our parents aren't happy that we've given up our samurai rank and used the money to buy shares in the railway, but it's a new world and we can't rely on old privilege to buy our son a commission at court, the way Kira's parents could. And we both are not feeling that well and coughing a bit, but it's been a hard winter and colds do occasionally linger into spring. Still, it's a good thing that young Mamoru is staying with Kira's parents right now, it wouldn't be good for him to catch this cold from both his parents….

And then I wake up and I almost think I still am that woman of the nineteenth century, until my laptop beeps or I smell my coffeemaker.

But how I wish I were, with her cheerful plans for the future, her loving husband, her son and her half-formed plans to give him a brother or sister as soon as she felt well enough.

* * *

_From the diary of Lacus Clyne_

August 15th

Dear Diary,

Conversations with Kira have confirmed my suspicions – my dreams are memories. Our memories. But I still feel like I am stuck in a holding pattern.

I'm in a place I have no claim to, in love with someone who died at least a hundred years ago, and I have no way to change either of those things.

Ghosts aren't supposed to stay here – they need to move on. But I don't want to hurt Kira, and I don't want to hurt either.

I need to work out what to do.

* * *

_From the diary of Lacus Clyne_

October 25th

Dear Diary,

It's been two months since the last time I wrote. So I must now record the end.

I'd worked out who and what Kira was. Now I had to work out why he was there. When he'd been telling me since the first day.

He had sworn to love me and to never leave me. I had died; and he had never left. He kept his word. So I had to work out how to release him. As soon as I thought of that, I realized: I had to release him from his oath.

Simple. Incredibly simple.

I didn't want to.

I've never been approached by boys, ever. All my life, I've been 'odd', and 'weird'; it was a relief for my parents when I went into music and they didn't have to worry about me anymore. Here was a wonderful, gorgeous guy who _didn't _think I was a weirdo, who wanted me the way I am. Send him _away_? Do I _look_ crazy?

But he wasn't happy. I _had _to let him go.

That evening, I waited till the sunset. We had promised to each other at sunset, and he had been bound in the dusk. It was the time.

I had stumbled across the small flower that day while waiting for sunset. I knew that it was there for that purpose. It was the only flower of which there was only one in the garden. So I stood there beside it, waiting for the end.

I felt the sun fall, as it painted the sky in cinnamon and violet, as brightly coloured as the skirts of one of my performance dresses. I felt Kira come up behind me. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" I said, without turning around.

His insubstantial arms slipped around my waist, a light puff of cool wind in the heat of the sun. "I'm looking at something far more lovely," he whispered in my ear. Oh, he wasn't playing fair...

"Kira," I whispered, "are you happy?"

He stilled. "Why would I not be?"

"In other words, no," I confirmed sadly, turning in the circle of his arms. In the shadowed light of the setting sun, he looked almost solid.

"I am content," he replied quickly, looking worried. "We can work this out, Lacus," he continued.

"No," I whispered. "Kira, I love you. I release you."

His eyes widened and shock etched itself on his beautiful face. I can't – won't – forget his expression. "What?"

"Be free, Kira," I said clearly, kneeling down and gripping the white poppy. "Go back where you belong!" I shouted, ripping the poppy out of the ground. He glowed brightly for a second and then he was gone.

I don't know why people say grownups shouldn't cry. It didn't matter then. I collapsed there, started to cry, and didn't stop until dawn. Then I stumbled inside, fell on my bed, and began to weep.

My lease expired two weeks after I - let him go? Set him free? What do I call it, anyway?

I finished the song I was writing for him, and I cried as I did.

I hope he went to the right place, that the oath he made didn't hold him away from where he was supposed to be. I was an _idiot _to ask it of him. Still... I didn't want to let him go. And if I hadn't seen what my stupidity did to him, I might have done it again. Thank goodness I got the chance to fix my mistake.

I'm still writing, and still with the flower theme. I kept finding myself singing about lost love, but that hasn't happened in a week and a half. I think I might be starting to get over it all.

Wait a moment - someone's at the door.

* * *

_From the journal of Kira Yamato_

October 25th

I didn't dream of her again. It's been two months.

Ever since I was small, I've dreamed of a girl. This dream-figment called herself 'Lacus' (and, no, I have no idea where my imagination picked up the name), and I usually dreamed that she was playing music, or in a garden. I dreamed that I would waken her from naps with kisses, that we walked together with smiles on our faces, and at night... Well, let's just say I never dreamed of an _anonymous _lover. I bought Freedom because it was so much like the house that she lived in. The gardens, especially, were almost exactly the same. Still I could never stay there – she wasn't there.

But, since the end of August, I've not seen her once. I woke up one morning feeling better than I have in years - free and whole. But I haven't dreamt of her since.

When I got home to Freedom, the house was surprisingly clean and neat. Then I remembered I'd arranged to let it while I was on my business trip, to a musician in Tokyo. Whoever she was, she was a much better tenant than I was an owner - Freedom was in near-perfect condition.

Then I entered the bedroom, and found the CD.

It was lying on the bedstead I'd left behind. I picked it up and put it in my Discman, and nearly fainted from shock. It was the song that Lacus worked on in my dreams. I breathed in, and there was a definite scent about the place - rosemary and soap - that was achingly familiar, and that I'd missed desperately. It had been seven weeks since I'd last smelt it, in a dream where a crying girl ripped a white poppy up, bruising her hands with the force of her pulling, and screamed, "Go where you belong...!"

Why on _earth _didn't I remember that _earlier_?

It took three days to get the papers out of storage, but when I did I had yet another shock. I'd let Freedom to 'Lacus Clyne'. _The _Lacus Clyne!

I've been collecting this girl's CDs and clippings for _years_, ever since they used some of the most electrifying music I'd ever heard for a presentation of one of our products. I wanted to know more about the musician who created that glorious sound, and I was intrigued by the notion that she was a girl my age.

It's taken me three days to get my courage up enough to go to the address listed on the lease agreement. This evening, however, I did it. I walked up to the apartment door (she lives in a building without more than a token security guard! I just walked past him and he didn't even look twice at me!) and knocked.

She opened the door (with the guardchain on) and I knew it. It was her. My dream Lacus was standing in front of me. Her eyes widened, and her right hand came up to her face.

The speech I'd memorized flew entirely out of my head. "Hi," I said. (Kira the brainiac.) "I'm Kira – Kira Yamato. May I come in?"

* * *

**Author's notes:**

1) I am aware that the official romanisation is Meer Campbell, not Mia Campbell. However, this is AU, and I like the look of 'Mia' better. Especially as it is not quite so obvious a throw to 'Lacus'.

2) The size of Japanese homes is described in terms of 'mats' – specifically, tatami (a type of reed) mats, which traditionally were used as floor coverings. For example, a six-mat room is a room that would require six mats to cover the floor completely. Tatami mats were/are normally woven to be about a metre long and just under half a metre wide. Six- to eight-mat rooms are standard for a single's apartment in Tokyo; twelve- to sixteen-mat rooms are found in houses in more rural areas.

3) For those who care: After the turbulent reaction to Admiral Perry and the Black Ships forcing Japan to open up trade with America and the West, including the dissolution of the Tokugawa shogunate and with it many of the customs and privileges inherent in the structured Japanese caste system, the aristocracy were offered monetary compensation for the loss of their rank and privileges. Many of the samurai used this money to invest in the new technologies that were being brought in by the foreign traders, and many accepted commissions from the government to work with and learn from the foreign scientists the government brought in to teach. Past!Kira here did both, by investing his compensation in the railway network and by studying to become an engineer.

4) Also for those who care: Past!Kira and Past!Lacus died of tuberculosis, which was very common in the early Meiji.

5) I like the language of flowers and I used it very extensively in this story. Every time a flower was mentioned by name, its meaning had relevance to the story.  
Here is a glossary of the flowers used and their meanings:  
Azalea - Temperance

Brambles - Lowness, Envy, Remorse

Daisy - Innocence

Dianthus - Make haste!

Fleur-de-lys - Flame, I burn

Flowering almond - Hope

Mignonette - Your qualities surpass your charms

Queen's rocket - You are the queen of flirts, Fashion

White hyacinth - Unobtrusive beauty

White poppy - Sleep, My bane

Yellow acacia - Secret love


End file.
